The ox thus left to himself tried to run, too, but the plough became caught on a small tree and held it fast.
As the flames approached, the poor animal bellowed with fear and pain, and struggled wildly, but unsuccessfully, to get free.

It would have certainly fallen a victim to the flames had not Mark, who had been busy lighting back-fires, seen its danger and ran to its rescue.

Cutting the rope traces with his pocket-knife, he set the ox free; and following the example of its master, it galloped clumsily across the open field.
The ox fled with such a bellowing and such a jangling of chains that poor Joe, who was hidden behind a great stump on the farther side of the field, was nearly frightened out of his few remaining senses when he saw this terrible monster charging out the fire and directly upon him.

He threw himself flat on the ground, screaming "g'way fum yere! g'way fum yere! Luff dis po' niggah be; he ain't a-doin' nuffin." Afterwards he was never known to speak of this adventure but once, when he said, "I allus knowed dat ar ok was somfin better'n common; but when I see him come a-rarin' an' a-tarin', an' a-janglin' right fo' me, I 'lowed 'twas ole Nick hise'f come fo' Black Joe, sho nuff." As the other ploughmen were driven from their work by the heat and the swirling smoke, they set back-fires all along the line, and retreated in good order to the house.

Here, although the heat was intense and the smoke almost suffocating, they made a stand.